


Made for This

by Mnjae



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Intense, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Wayhaught - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnjae/pseuds/Mnjae
Summary: Nicole Haught is determined to get what she wants. She treads the world with death following close behind, reminding her every step of the way why she does what she does. When a sudden contract offers her what she's been looking for all these years, she is soon faced with the decision to choose - between her revenge or the person she loves.





	1. Prologue

She hadn't been in Southport for more than a few days to understand just how many cards were going to have to be laid out onto the table. A town, where everyone knew everyone and no doubt grew up alongside one another, would most likely notice if someone went missing. And if it happened to be two someone's – well – alarms would definitely go off.

Alarms she would much rather avoid, if possible.

She put the car in park, cut the engine, and stepped out into the sultry night. She'd crossed the parking lot with the gravel crunching beneath her feet and her hands settled in her pockets. The only lit up part of town was the street up ahead, radiating of music and laughter, which had been entirely blocked off from either end. She, along with everyone else, had been designated to park on another lot.

The street had sprung to life when she stepped through the barriers. Red, white, and blue splattered on just about everything that could take it. Families were coming and going, games were being played, and the air was reeking of charcoal BBQ and kettle corn. It was a savory smell, she thought, but what a weird combination it had been.

Being the new face in Southport, she was sure to draw attention. The kind of attention that could have been avoided in a big city, where she wouldn't of had to have been in this over enthusiastic blare of joy. But regardless of how she felt about it, she needed to change this time around. Things were going to have to be approached differently and done much differently. She needed to be more involved and less hidden. 

More normal, if she was going to make this work.

And what better way than at the towns annual Fourth of July block party, seemingly trying to blend in with the American flag printed across the cap she'd been wearing. Where she feigned enjoyment at every turn, giving a smile to everyone she managed to make eye-contact with.

Because the two names sloshing around in her mind needed faces, so the sea of people in this crowd could become nothing more than just that. _People._

This was going to be exhausting, she thought.

The crowd got thicker the louder the music got. At the far end of the street, where four corners of the intersection met, was a live band playing on a high platform. There were far too many people, drunk and moving to the thump, while others mindlessly stood there watching the stupor.

_Yeah, she gets my heart racing (my baby loves to dance)_

She was caught in the middle of it somehow, trying to slip in between the ruckus. She instantly regretted her decision to move this way.

_All through my body beating like a drum (my body beating like a drum)_

Her shoulders brushed and bumped into strangers, no voice loud enough for apologies.

_Yeah, the sexy way she shakes it (my baby loves to dance)_

A shove too strong – she stopped mid step – hands unsettling.

Her head turned, aggravated.

“Watch it,” she goes to say.

But the music slows and so does her voice.

_She don't really care who's watchin'_

One blink and she's there, across the way - far away – mid twirl and a pair of arms pulling her back.

Their eyes meet.

_Once she gets goin', there's no stopping her_

She catches their smile begin to fade, but the remnants of it still there. Her own face softens – unaware of what see's seeing. Who's she watching.

_There's no stopping her_

The music blares again and the world around her begins to move, the shoving continues.

She peeled her eyes away from them, her whole body moving with the motion, and had proceeded to walk away, slipping her cap a little lower than need be.

Luck, she thought.

How incredibly lucky.


	2. Chapter 2

Nicole didn't see it coming, the cause of her staggered steps to hit the wall behind her. She only felt the sudden throb in her jawline after it was over. It'd taken all of her control, away from the adrenaline, not to stop and go the other way. Admitting defeat. But it was the desire to disconnect from the pain that pushed her forward; the pull and twist of muscle as she skipped over the needed steps to play catch up.

It was a race to the top of the apartment complex, and now, she was losing.

And then he was there in front of her, running with the same madness as she wrapped around the spiral staircase – coming to screech across the floor to grip the rail in an attempt to plunge herself up. 

Every new stomp, a smack to her heart.

Each new floor, closer to the finish line.

But he'd made a mistake. She'd seen his foot misplace the next step and she watched him fall face first against the tile. He groaned when she reached him and pulled at his jacket.

He leaned his body back against her, causing them both to stumble.

They tumbled back down the staircase.

Their flesh echoed the empty space around them as they crashed.

In between catching her breath and finding out that the world had become a blur, she was regressing faster to her feet than she had expected. Nicole rolled her shoulders, a slight twist of her neck, and then ended the rotation with a long sigh.

She found his eyes after, staring and fueled.

She noticed how he tensed under her gaze, the familiarity recognizable from the contact.

It was his pride, she was sure of it. Her pride would hurt too, if the roles had been reversed.

If she too, in fact, had trusted the wrong person.

“I'm going to kill you,” he spit, out of breath.

Nicole pulled her cap down, resting it just above her eyes. Concentrated and ready. She tightened her fists, held them up and with the tilt of her head, she lead a four fingered motion of crinkled leather..

As if to wordlessly say, _bring it_.

He did. Launching at her, left to right with rigorous strikes and to which she returned full force. She managed to hold him off, both stumbling and pushing in defense.

Nothing but their quick breaths, screeched rubber, and connected hits out weighed the quiet.

One kick to the ribs.

And then another, cradled her to the floor.

She was pulled from the tile. His hand tearing at her jacket, until her back slammed into the wall behind her.

Her body cried out, but the sound never managed to leave her lips.

He stood there, her throat now suffering by his grip.

Nicole fought between drifting off into nothingness and finding a small bit of air to take in. She shoved a hand in his face, trying to distract his vision.

Her free hand slipped behind herself.

She struggled as her fingers wrapped around the metal between the waist line of her jeans.

Slowly, she managed the tug and pull, slipping the silenced GLOCK from its holder.

His hold tightened, agitated.

Her eyes shut.

Nicole aimed and pulled the trigger.

The soft spoof filled the air, a bullet deftly shot twice.

He yelled out – his grip released. 

She shoved him before dropping to her knees, coughing.

The clash of flesh rumbled further away from her until there was nothing left but a long thud.

Nicole rose to her feet, motioning to the top of the staircase, quickly finding him at the bottom; collapsed and grunting. The dominance she felt, the radiating feel of victory, granted her the momentum to tuck away the ache in her body for every last step down towards him.

He was leaking in a pool of five-hundred thousand of dollars. And she reveled in the sight of it. Only she didn't dare show it.

Nicole stopped at the last step when he finally acknowledged her. His pupils dilated behind the silencer with a fear she'd seen a dozen times before.

He should of known better, she thought.

“How does it feel?” he asks, wheezing. “Killing your own kind?”

Nicole lowered the gun at his words, moving and taking a seat on the steps.

She watched the man who'd taken her days and nights, her endless thoughts, slowly start to bleed out in front of her.

Death was there, standing in the corner, waiting.

But Nicole took her time, leaving his eyes to wonder of what she was going to say.

Leaving their familiarity to dissipate.

 

**..::..**

 

Iced scotch, was a pleasure and a burn. It'd mixed quite well with the cool air flowing under the awning windows of her apartment complex. The sky had bled only moments ago, turning a quiet morning into a thick and heavy rage. Nicole lingered behind the damp glass, transfixed on the sea of clouds continuing to swarm all over Moscow.

It was Monday, three days after Nicole had pulled the trigger and seventy-two hours she'd spent stuck on replaying the events from that night. Although her body had grown accustomed to the lifestyle – a routine bounded by constant travels and beat downs – it'd ultimately been the worst of them yet. It was unusual for her mind to linger there after the killing was over.

But his words felt like they were poking and pleading for her to feel something, anything for what she'd done. It was a job she's been doing for years now. And no matter how hard she tried, the guilt she expected he wanted to see in her eyes, just wasn't there.

Nicole thought she could wash the night off, let it slip down the drain, and she'd never hear from it again. Something she'd always done and had always worked. Except this time, a part of himself latched on to her and she couldn't shake him.

The low hiss of rubber on wet pavement snapped at her for attention.

It started to rain again.

And for a moment, Nicole could see his darkened eyes reflected in the glass. She could feel his skin on her neck, cutting again at her airway. She rubbed underneath the turtleneck of her sweater, as if to soothe the bruising.

Another hard sip of scotch, another relished burn. Nicole hoped to numb whatever else wanted to hurt.

“I cannot wait to go to California,” Jeremy says behind her, the pair of eyes replaced by his light reflection coming from the hallway. “I didn't ask for all this, wet. I need heat!”

“How hot are you expecting it to be?” she asks, turning to face him.

“At least in the eighties,” He said, taking a seat at the kitchen counter with his laptop fixed in front of him.

Nicole left her melancholy behind at the window, sauntering over to him. She downed last bit of scotch.

“I'm guessing you've already taken it upon yourself to look,” she teased.

“Maybe.”

“You have.”

“Well, can you blame me? I swear this thunderstorm hasn't stopped since we got here,” he looked up from his screen, pointing to the window. “I mean, how do people live in this?”

Nicole shook her head and grabbed the bottle of scotch on the counter – a little less than half remaining. Before popping the top off, she took a good look at Jeremy, his eyes heavy on the screen again.

His stubble had returned, the bags under his eyes lightly visible. His hair was waving out of his backwards cap with _'Harvard University'_ printed on the front of his sweatshirt. He was exhausted, and like her, he'd never admit to it. 

She set the cap on the table, pulled another glass out from the cupboard and filled both with a few cubes of ice. Nicole poured just an inch below the rim and slide the cup in front of him.

Jeremy sighed and looked at her. “It's nine in the morning.”

Nicole just shrugs and nods her head towards the glass. He hesitates before giving in, taking a long drag.

She raises her eyebrows. He was more exhausted than she thought.

He brings a hand to his mouth and coughs out soon after, “God, how do you drink this stuff?”

Nicole manages a smile and rounds the counter, taking the spot next to him. “How are we looking?”

“Great,” he chokes out again, the burn clearly visible in voice. She bit back another smile. 

“We can take time off, you know.”

Her amused look drops and so does the quiet. “No, we don't get paid for that,” Nicole says.

“We could take a vacation. Nothing more than a week at most,” he offered and she looked away. She found the melancholy from before waiting at the window pane.

_Come back_ , they say.

It sounded nice, Nicole admitted. It just wasn't going to happen.

“Maybe next time,” she says, looking at him again.

He didn't say anything after that.

Thunder erupts from outside and Jeremy's typing stops, and then returns.

Nicole hovered over his shoulder through the years, getting a glimpse into the world and language that was hacking. Which he was clearly doing. And still, to this day, all she could see was a bunch of letters and numbers typed in no right or wrong order. That somehow magically got you from A to B. It wasn't the most easiest task, she was aware, but he'd made it look so incredibly easy that it was hard not to be in awe.

Jeremy was running _'The Tor Browser'_ , a file used for people wanting to gain access to places that weren't available to the public. He was configuring his proxies and shuffling through the endless amount of encryption. 

He tried on multiple occasions to teach her, in case she was ever in a situation and he wasn't there to help. Nicole just couldn't get behind the never ending list of his vocabulary. The definitions were easy to learn, but when it came down to learning the codes for them – she ultimately gave up.

As long as Jeremy was here, she didn't care to learn.

It wasn't much longer till Jeremy found himself in the place he'd been searching for, a small part hidden away, famously known as the **Dark Web**. Nicole remembered this step; hold down the control key followed by a few numbers and then release.

The screen shut off soon after.

All at once, the words _'The Purgatory Estate'_ faded across the screen. A bold and blank white box appearing below it. Jeremy then typed his ID number and the rest was nothing more than a casual website.

Except, it wasn't.

It was and is a prestige underground society, homed to the most lethal and professional assassins in the world. Tethered across the site was hundreds, if not thousands, of listed contract killings; ranging from the ordinary, to the political, and then to the assassins themselves. It was like Facebook, but for killers to conduct their business.

“You can stop fawning now,” Jeremy says, still scrolling through the page with a clear hint of amusement on his face.

“I wasn't,” Nicole says, leaning back in her chair.

She wasn't, she reminded herself.

“I can still teach,” he goes to say.

“No – no, we've been over this,” she stops him. “Besides, if I learned and succeeded, I'd have to get rid of you.”

Jeremy glares, his fingers hovering above the keys. “You wouldn't dare.”

“You never know,” she muses and he scoffs. 

“So, who are we chasing in California?” Nicole asks.

“Chad.”

“Chad?”

“He's thirty-two, lives in Sacramento, and runs a small business,” he says and something in his expression changes.

“What?” Nicole asks.

“Might be a tad difficult, don't you think?”

“Depends, what is he going for?”

“Four million. But I might,” he pauses, tapping his chin in thought. “Be able to bump it to five million, for being in such a prominent city and because his business would probably go looking for him.”

Nicole was about to answer when the loud buzz interrupted them. Jeremy shut his laptop and she tensed, her hands gripped the glass in her lap. She met his eyes before they both looked to the front door.

“Are you expecting someone?” Jeremy asks, concerned.

“Of course not.”

“You stay here then, I'll get it,” he says, getting up and moving to the door.

Jeremy steps out in a hurry, the rain pounding outside for only a moment, and she try's to catch a glimpse of their intruder before the door shuts.

It didn't make any sense, she thought.

He returned through the entrance a minute later, not empty-handed though. He was carrying a clear vase, full of a dozen or more roses spilling out of it.

“Secret admirer?” Nicole asked, rising to meet him halfway to the kitchen table, leaving her scotch behind. 

“Something you want to tell me?”

She teased and he gave her a hard stare. “Actually, I should be asking you that,” he said, setting them down on the counter.

“There for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song used: "Dance" by Rascal Flatts.


End file.
